


It's Elementary

by jettacubed (Isteskunst)



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isteskunst/pseuds/jettacubed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: First-grade teacher Blaine has it bad for Lima Elementary’s choir teacher, Mr. Hummel. Getting his attention shouldn’t be too hard for someone as flirty as Blaine, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Elementary

Tick. Tick.

_Any minute now,_ Blaine thought, staring at the clock at the front of the room. He had finished his salad ages ago and was now clutching the fork he’d brought from home, tapping it in time with the clock on the empty Tupperware.

Tick. Tick.

He nervously adjusted his bowtie (today it was forest green with yellow highlights and, okay, yes, he was wearing it because his mother had told him it _brought out his eyes_ , what of it) and ran a hand across the hard shell that was the top of his head. Every strand of his dark unruly hair was in place – he knew it was in place, he’d checked it five times already – and yet he kept smoothing it down. It was a nervous tic he’d picked up some time after _ha ha, Blaine’s got a bird’s nest on his head_ but before _ha ha, the gay kid just got his face kicked in_.

Tick. Tick.

It was almost time. Just ten more seconds – five more seconds – 1 more second and

**BZZZZZ**.

The bell rang. Blaine dropped the fork with a clatter and sprang out of his chair. He could hear the chattering of his students in the hall and then there they were, spilling into the classroom like a tiny-person parade.

“Don’t sit down, just – no, Kaley, that’s not for eating, put it down – guys, don’t sit down, it’s Tuesday!” Blaine walked briskly across the classroom, herding his small charges to the back wall. “What do we do on Tuesday after lunch?”

The small boy already leaning against the back wall groaned. “We go to choir,” he said, wrinkling his nose to signify that choir was the last place he wanted to be.

“Don’t be like that, Derek!” Blaine said cheerfully, still herding the rest of the children into a single-file line in front of the door. “Choir is fun! Don’t you want to” – he raised his arms like an opera singer – “sing?”

Derek made a face. “No?” Blaine said, dropping his arms to his sides. “Anyone else? Who’s excited for _choir time_?”

Most of his first-graders gave a cheer. Donna, a girl with corkscrew curls, emitted what Blaine thought was supposed to be a scale. He gave her an encouraging smile – nurturing the students’ creative spirits was very important, after all – and stood at the door to usher the line along. “Everyone out! Out, out, out!” He waved them through like an airplane controller, making sure to grin especially hard as Derek came through the door. Derek shook his head at him, but Blaine could tell he was trying not to smile.

As he led the line across the elementary school’s campus, he adjusted his bowtie and smoothed his head-shell, the nerves and excitement he’d been feeling all day – and to be honest, every Tuesday and Thursday all year – growing stronger in the pit of his stomach.

And then there they were – at the door of Mecca, the holy grail, the oasis in the midst of a dying land: the choir room.

Holding his breath, Blaine opened the door. His kids streamed past him into the room, chattering like parakeets, but Blaine only had eyes for the figure leaning against the piano.

“Hello, small humans!” Mr. Hummel called out. He clapped his hands. “Okay, everybody, settle down!” His dark blue vest (pinstriped with two different shades of purple) was tight across his broad chest and slim waist. Blaine loved when he wore vests. He loved them almost as much as he loved Mr. Hummel’s entire pants collection. He was leaning on the doorjamb, admiring the long lines of Mr. Hummel’s legs in his delightfully tight trousers, when the man snapped his fingers at him.

“Mr. Anderson?” He said, one hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you with something or did you just forget the way back to your classroom?”

Blaine’s students laughed uproariously from where they were all seated and waiting to begin the lesson. Oh. Right. This was where he was supposed to leave.

“Oh, uh, no – I’ll just be back in an hour, then!” Blaine said, backing out of the room. Mr. Hummel smiled at him fondly, even as he rolled his eyes and made shooing gestures with his hands.

Blaine turned and walked back to his classroom, ready to spend another hour waiting for the bell to ring.

 

***

 

Blaine and Mr. Hummel had begun teaching at Lima Elementary School at the same time, having both graduated from their respective universities the previous year. It was unusual for a school to be hiring in such a tough economic climate, but Blaine had nepotism on his side – his father golfed with the superintendant once a month. If Blaine had to devote himself to a lifetime of sticky hands and public school salaries, his father had said, the least he could do was accept employment when it was handed to him.

He’d felt guilty about that at first, but he’d soon come to realize that having the job – the colorful classroom with its wonderful(ly sticky) students – was a privilege that no amount of string-pulling could sully.

He wasn’t sure how Mr. Hummel had managed to get hired when it seemed like everyone else was being laid off, but Blaine rather assumed it was because the school had taken one look at Mr. Hummel and decided it could never ever let such a marvelous creature go.   

In any case, they had begun teaching at the same time. That didn’t, however, mean that they spent much time together. The only time they actually saw each other was at the beginning and end of each choir lesson (one hour on Tuesday and Thursday each) and at the school’s infrequent let’s-throw-all-the-faculty-together-and-talk-at-them staff meetings.

Which, in Blaine’s mind, was really not enough. He tried to make up for the tragic lack of Mr. Hummel in his life by going to the choir room ten minutes before the lesson was over. He would lean outside the room and sigh with adoration as he listened to the choir teacher’s lilting voice. He had been completely overwhelmed the first time he had heard the man sing – when the door to the classroom had opened, he’d stared at him in shock. How was it possible for one person to look and sound _that_ good? Mr. Hummel had blushed prettily and asked if he needed the nurse.

He’d tried to find Mr. Hummel during lunch breaks (when he wasn’t patrolling the playground making sure the kiddies were playing nice) but to no avail – he was never in the staff room or the choir room. Blaine didn’t know where he ate lunch and he couldn’t ask because they weren’t exactly at that stage of their relationship. The talking-to-each-other stage. Sure, there were greetings and goodbyes and nods of acknowledgement, but Blaine had never had the opportunity to get beyond that.

Well, okay. He’d maybe had a _few_ opportunities to get past that. Like when he and Mr. Hummel had been walking to the parking lot after their first faculty meeting.

They’d been walking with another teacher (a blonde woman in her forties that Blaine privately thought was a bit insane), and Blaine had tried to stifle the Mr. Hummel-induced butterflies in his stomach by flirting shamelessly with her.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer!” she’d said when he told her that her (rather awful) cardigan brought out her eyes.

“I prefer to think of myself as a teller of truths,” Blaine winked. She shook her head at him, but he could tell that she was flattered. Pleased, he smiled extra hard at her.

Soon, they reached her vehicle and she waved them off with a “nice to have met you!”

Distraction gone, Blaine was now left to try his magic on Mr. Hummel.

“Hey, so, uh,” he stumbled, “choir, huh?”

Mr. Hummel laughed. “Yep! And you’re first grade? That must be rough – I don’t think I could handle being with the same kids for that long.” He smiled as he talked, and brushed his artfully styled hair away from his forehead. He was the most beautiful man Blaine had ever seen. And Blaine, normally so suave and dapper and ready to flirt with anything over 18, was struck completely and utterly awkward in his presence.

“Oh, uh. I love kids, so…” He laughed nervously, too loud, and internally cringed when he saw Mr. Hummel’s lovely brows raise. The man must think he was deranged. 

_Oh, god, this is like the GAP attack all over again,_ he thought with distress. _Come on, say something charming – you were doing it a second ago!_

“This is good weather for a faculty meeting,” he said, squinting into the cloudy sky.

Mr. Hummel stopped and cocked his head, a quizzical expression on his perfect face. He looked at the sky and then back at Blaine, like he was trying to figure out whether Blaine was messing with him or not.

Blaine wanted to say something, anything, to show Mr. Hummel that he was being completely serious, but he was stymied by the fact that he’d just make a horribly stupid statement and had no idea how to support it. So, instead, he just stared at Mr. Hummel with what he hoped were earnest eyes.

“I see,” Mr. Hummel said. “Well, this is me…” He gestured to the black car Blaine hadn’t even realized they were standing by. Heck, he hadn’t even realized they’d stopped walking.

“Oh! Oh, right! Well, uh, drive home safe!” Blaine gave a little wave as Mr. Hummel got into the car, and then turned to locate his own vehicle. In which, shortly after, he knocked his head against the steering wheel because, _really_ , Blaine? _Really?_

That was when he’d first suspected that Mr. Hummel might just be the kryptonite to Blaine’s flirty Superman.

The second opportunity Blaine had had to make conversation with Mr. Hummel had been when the two of them were seated next to each other at the school’s monthly assembly.

Mr. Hummel had smiled at him – causing Blaine’s stomach to fill again with those most inconsiderate butterflies – and said, “Well, hello again, Mr. Anderson. I’ve been meaning to tell you that you have quite a few talented singers in your class!”

“I do?” Blaine asked, distracted by the color of Mr. Hummel’s eyes.

“Yes! Maybe you should think about including some sort of musical aspect to the curriculum? So they can have more opportunities to sing?” Mr. Hummel was still smiling, but it looked like he wanted Blaine to say a certain thing and Blaine for the life of him didn’t know what was the correct way to respond.

“I have a degree in music education, you know,” Mr. Hummel continued, still looking at Blaine expectantly.

“So you must, uh, have practice with music education,” Blaine said, hoping that Mr. Hummel was getting at what Blaine wanted him to be getting at.

“Yes, I do.”

Blaine wanted to ask Mr. Hummel to spend extensive hours with him creating a new curriculum and making out, but the other man leaned forward and was now even closer to Blaine. Flustered by this change of events, Blaine said the first thing that came to mind.

“Cool!”

Mr. Hummel sighed and turned back to face the speaker.

“Yeah, so cool,” he said, but Blaine didn’t think he sounded like he thought it was so cool at all.

Thankfully, Derek’s mother (a rather stern woman with close-cropped hair) came up to talk to Blaine, and he escaped the failed, awkward conversation with the man of his dreams by complimenting her son until she smiled.

The next opportunity had been a few weeks later. Blaine had had an hour while his kids were in PE and so he’d headed over to the administration office to get some arts and crafts supplies for the next lesson.

He was, apparently, not alone in his need for art supplies. Tina, the kindergarten teacher from the neighboring classroom, was leaning against the counter as she talked with the school’s secretary.

What with their classrooms being so near to one another in location and age group, Blaine had often worked with Tina. She was around his age and incredibly sweet, and he had quickly started to consider her a good friend of his.

“Good morning, ladies!” he’d said with a smile.

The two women looked up at him, surprised. Ms. Jones coughed loudly.

“Blaine, we were just talking about you!” Tina said, straightening up. Ms. Jones coughed again.

“All good, I hope?” Blaine joined them at the counter. “Or am I going to have to be extra charming to make up for any blights on my character?”

Ms. Jones, who had apparently gotten over her coughing fit, hummed with interest. “No blights, but can I still vote for extra charming?”

“For a beautiful woman such as yourself, Ms. Jones,” Blaine said with a wink, “that would be no trouble at all.”

She giggled. “Oh, you!”

Both she and Tina were beaming at him. He loved to make people smile.

He leaned over her low desk so he could look at her through his eyelashes. “What’s a lovely woman like you doing in a stuffy office like this, anyway?” Ms. Jones giggled again and ducked her head. He was on a roll. “Has anyone ever told you that purple is your color? That scarf is absolutely breathtaking on you!”

Ms. Jones waved her hand at him. “Oh, stop it, you big flirt!” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

“But my fair lady,” he said, really laying it on. He kissed the top of her hand. “I am absolutely overcome by your radiance!”

Tina was giggling too, and she shoved him gently in the shoulder. “You’re ridiculous!”

Blaine turned to her and held out his arms dramatically. “Dearest Tina, dance with me, for your beauty is strong and the day is young!” He attempted to whisk her into a waltz, but she wasn’t having it and he ended up just tugging on her waist while she giggled helplessly into his shoulder. Blaine was just about to give in to his own giggle-attack (which he’d valiantly been suppressing) when he heard a voice a few feet to the right.

“I’m afraid you may have overstepped _charming_ by a few miles and ended up in _cheesy_ instead, Mr. Anderson.”

Blaine spun around. Leaning against the doorway between the room Blaine was in and the copy room was Mr. Hummel, dressed in (Blaine’s favorite) tight striped pants and a red turtleneck sweater that Blaine wanted to stroke. A sea anemone brooch glittered on the right side of his chest. He was smiling as he observed their shenanigans with one eyebrow raised.

“Mr. Hummel!” Blaine said, a little breathlessly. One hand instinctively shot up to check his hair. “I, uh, didn’t see you.” The giggle-attack was replaced by a strong urge to make as little a fool of himself as possible.

“I was in the copy room,” Mr. Hummel answered, gesturing behind him.

The women had stopped giggling and were now watching the two men with interest.

Blaine wanted to dance over and sweep Mr. Hummel into a waltz like he’d just been doing with Tina, but the connections between what he wanted and what his body was actually going to do seemed to be severed.  He realized he was staring again, and turned quickly back to Ms. Jones.

“Oh. I, uh, I just wanted some paper,” he said. The secretary looked at him like he was a bug she was dissecting. “Do you have construction paper?” She looked between him and Mr. Hummel again, and then nodded.

There was an awkward silence. Then –

“So, Blaine, Kurt was just telling me that you were in a singing group!” Tina said, looking between the men.

Startled, Blaine turned to look at Mr. Hummel, who was both blushing and glaring at Tina.

“What?” Blaine asked. He hadn’t told him that. He’d analyzed their interactions obsessively and he was completely sure that he hadn’t told Mr. Hummel anything about the Warblers.

“Tina is confused,” Mr. Hummel said with a clenched jaw. “That was a _different_ Blaine, Tina, remember?”

Blaine looked between Tina’s exasperated face and Mr. Hummel’s blushing cheeks. Ms. Jones cleared her throat.

“Blaine?” she said. “Here’s that paper you wanted.”

He grabbed the paper like the lifeline it was and turned to leave the confusing situation as quickly as possible. “Thank you, Ms. Jones –”

“Mercedes, please,” Ms. Jones – Mercedes – cut in.

“Thank you, Mercedes,” he smiled at her, and then exited to escape back to the comfort of his classroom.

So Blaine had actually had three excellent opportunities to talk to Mr. Hummel – he had just made absolute disasters out of them.

 

***

 

“What is happening to me?” Blaine whined into his phone one night, facedown on his bed. “I’ve been flirting since I was five years old! So why can’t I do it when I actually need to?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because you want to fuck this guy, squirt,” Cooper’s voice, too cheerful and too loud, grated on Blaine’s ear. He crinkled his nose at both his brother’s crudeness and the nickname.

“Well, I’m never going to _get_ to fuck him at this rate,” Blaine grumbled into the bedspread. “Or hold his hand. Or slow dance with him through a sunny meadow. Or sing duets as we gently paddle a boat down a river.”

His brother made a disgusting retching sound. “Ugh, spare me the nonsexual fantasies, please. If you’re going to dream aloud, show some consideration and make it x-rated.”

“You are absolutely no help.”

“I am _lots_ of help, little bro! I have the solution to your problem right here: the next time you see Hottie McHotHot, don’t act like a troll.”

“I’m _trying_ , Coop!” Blaine said, frustrated.

“Well, obviously not hard enough! So man up, act like the dapper motherfucker we all know you are, and nail the dude. It’s that simple. Now go grade papers or whatever it is you teachers do, I have lines to practice.”

 

***

 

Upon further consideration, Blaine reached the conclusion that his brother was right: he _was_ a dapper motherfucker. And if he ever wanted to have any chance whatsoever with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was going to have to start _acting_ like a dapper motherfucker.

He was determined that the next time he had the opportunity to interact with Mr. Hummel, he was going to be as untroll-like as possible. In fact, he was going to _wow_ the man.

He could see it now –

Mr. Hummel would be standing at his big black car, dressed in that one pair of pants that Blaine particularly loved and a vest. With something fancy underneath it – no, with _nothing_ underneath it. Yes, that was much better. He’d cock his hip as he dug through his satchel, looking for his keys, head tilted to display the smooth skin of his throat.

Blaine, head-shell perfectly in place, would saunter up behind him.

“Your legs look fantastic in those, Mr. Hummel,” he’d say. “But they’d look even better wrapped around my waist.”

Mr. Hummel would be startled and turn to face him, his back against the car.

“Mr. Anderson!” he’d say, breathlessly, his cheeks lightly pink. “There are children around – watch your mouth!”

Blaine would step forward, trapping Mr. Hummel between the two hands he braced on the car. “Actually, my dear,” he’d whisper. “I think I’d rather watch yours.”

Mr. Hummel would gasp and Blaine would swoop in, kissing him deeply, dropping both hands to grab at Mr. Hummel’s perfect ass. Mr. Hummel would moan and wrap his arms around Blaine’s neck, and Blaine would press the other man back against the car with his body. Blaine would slide one hand up under Mr. Hummel black vest, squeezing at his hip, waist, rib cage, before grasping at his chest.

“Mr. Anderson!” Mr. Hummel would cry, letting his head fall against the car. “I had no idea you were so charming!”

“Please,” Blaine would murmur hotly against Mr. Hummel’s ear. “Call me Blaine.”

Blaine imagined quite a few scenarios like that, actually, and they all ended with the two of them calling each other by their first names before fucking somewhere inappropriate. Like in the back of Mr. Hummel’s car in the school parking lot. Or in that alley with the dumpsters at the back of the cafeteria. Or over the piano in Mr. Hummel’s choir room.

The possibilities for inappropriate places in which they could fuck were virtually endless.

The next time Blaine saw Mr. Hummel, however, did not happen like that all.

 

***

 

It was the Saturday after Blaine had made the decision to wow Mr. Hummel’s pants off (literally) with his charm. Blaine was at Whole Foods. It was a little out of his way (because Lima didn’t _have_ a Whole Foods and Blaine had to go to the next town over every week if he wanted decent food options) but totally worth it.

Blaine (because being gay, addicted to bowties, and unable to go a whole day without breaking into song wasn’t enough to make him stand out) was a bit of a nutrition snob.

He was a strong believer in the importance of a diet filled with whole and plant-based foods. This was, of course, yet another way in which he had disappointed and confused his father – the look on his father’s face when Blaine chose a kale and lentil dish over a freshly grilled steak was rivaled only by the look he’d had when he’d walked in on Blaine with a boy back in high school. But Blaine tried to not let it get to him.

It was Blaine’s body and he was going to put whatever the hell he wanted into it. Pun intended.

So, Blaine was in Whole Foods, comparing the ingredients of two different kinds of fettuccine (did he want the one made out of spinach or the one made out of bell pepper?) when he caught sight of something in his peripheral vision.

Mr. Hummel was at the end of the aisle, facing away from Blaine and bending down to pick up a bottle of agave sweetener from the bottom shelf.

Blaine stared. Their next meeting wasn’t supposed to happen this way – in none of his fantasies had Blaine imagined himself hitting on Mr. Hummel while wearing sweatpants and holding pasta boxes. Oh, god, his sweatpants.

Oh, god, his _hair._

Blaine dropped both boxes of pasta into his cart and thrust both hands into his ungelled hair, trying desperately to comb it into something remotely decent.

Mr. Hummel had put the agave in his cart and was beginning to push it down the aisle, away from Blaine. If Blaine wanted, he could do nothing and let Mr. Hummel leave.

But, no. That was troll-like behavior, and he had decided that Blaine Anderson was not a troll. He was a motherfucking dapper son of a bitch and he was going to act like it.

“Mr. Hummel!” he called, just as the other man was about to push his cart out of the aisle. Mr. Hummel spun around, startled. He looked perfect, as always, with painted-on pants and a jacket that looked like it cost a whole year’s worth of his public-school-teacher salary. His hair, Blaine noted enviously, looked awesome and not at all as if it could house small birds.

“Blaine!” Mr. Hummel exclaimed, surprise evident in his voice. Blaine’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh,” Mr. Hummel said, pulling his cart back toward Blaine’s. “Sorry – Mr. Anderson – actually, can I call you Blaine?” He stopped about a foot away and leaned slightly against his cart. He tilted his head as he looked at Blaine and Blaine had to take a second to understand what had just been said to him.

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” he managed to say. Mr. Hummel smiled at him – with teeth! – and put out a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Blaine. I’m Kurt,” he said.

Blaine grasped his hand and shook it. It was the first time he’d touched Mr. Hummel – no, _Kurt_.

“Your hand is really soft,” he said. Then cringed. Because, really? Really, Blaine?

But Kurt laughed, so he couldn’t really give himself that hard of a time. Kurt’s laugh was just as perfect as the rest of him. Blaine’s new life mission became _make Kurt Hummel laugh_.

“Thank you,” Kurt said. “I moisturize.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, before Kurt’s gaze fell to Blaine’s shopping cart.

“Oh!” he said, (really soft) hand darting out to pick up the spinach fettuccine. “This stuff is great, I make it all the time!”

“Really?” Blaine asked. He looked into Kurt’s cart and saw that at least half of the groceries in it were in his cart as well. “Oh, wow – we’re food twins!”

He would have cringed at the comment – one should really not refer to someone one wants to sleep with as one’s _sibling_ – but he was distracted when Kurt laughed, louder this time. 

“And here I was thinking I was the only one in that school that didn’t treat my body like a dumpster – did you _see_ what they were trying to pass off as food at the last faculty meeting?” Kurt asked, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet with excitement.

Blaine made a face. “Uh, no, actually – after the Cheetos incident I stopped looking.”

Kurt laughed again, delighted, and then looked down. When he looked up, he was biting his lower lip. “So, how would you feel about shopping with me, Mr. Food Twin?”

Blaine’s heart started to beat a little faster. “I would, uh, feel pretty okay about that,” he managed, exceedingly pleased with himself. He’d been talking to Kurt for at least three minutes and he had yet to make a fool out of himself. Now he just had to get from _not making a fool of himself_ to _successfully wowing this beautiful man’s pants off_.

Blaine followed Kurt down the aisle and then turned down another one. Kurt was consulting what appeared to be a bullet-pointed grocery list. Wanting to say something charming but unable to come up with anything, Blaine grabbed a pack of tofu noodles and held it up to Kurt.

“Have you tried this?” Blaine asked.

Kurt looked at it then scrunched up his nose. “Yes, and ew. I’d rather light two dollars on fire than use them to buy that travesty again.”

Blaine laughed and Kurt looked pleased. Blaine put the noodles – which he actually had been considering buying – back on the shelf.

Kurt pulled down a box of miso soup. “Now _this_ is worth my hard-earned money.”

Before he could second-guess himself, Blaine reached out and took the soup from Kurt’s hand.

“Oops, mine now,” he said, putting it in his own cart. He looked at Kurt, hoping the action had said “I’m playful and gustatorially compatible with you” and not “This is a warning sign that I will steal all of your possessions.”

It must have been more of the former because Kurt just giggled and grabbed another box for himself. “Food thief!” he said with a mock-glare, before reaching for something else to show Blaine.

By the time they were almost through the produce section (Blaine’s favorite section – he could never get enough of all the _colors_ ), Blaine was feeling a lot more comfortable. He’d been talking to Kurt for at least twenty minutes and, aside from a few moments of awkward staring and Blaine’s inability to string more than two sentences together, things had been going pretty well. So well, in fact, that Blaine felt okay about asking a question that had been on his mind.

“So, Kurt,” he said, pretending to examine the oranges. “The other day, what Tina said –you know I was in a singing group?”

Kurt blushed immediately, fumbling with the squash he was holding. “Tina was confused,” he laughed nervously, “I was talking about a completely _different_ Blaine. Were you in a singing group, too? Hmm, how interesting and coincidental!”

Apparently Kurt was adorable when flustered. This did not surprise Blaine in the least.

He tilted his head and looked at Kurt until the other man rolled his eyes.

“Okay, fine, I facebook stalked you.”

Blaine laughed. “Really?” Then – “but we’re not friends on facebook!”

Kurt glared at him. “Yes, I’d _noticed_ that, funny enough. You’re friends with _Tina_ , though, and I’m friends with her, and your security settings are ridiculous.”

Blaine laughed again, hot in the face. Feeling bold, he took out his phone and called up his facebook app. “There, friendship request sent!”

“Did you just friend me?” Kurt got out his own phone. “Oh my god, you did! Friendship accepted!”

“Now I can look at pictures of _you_ as an awkward teenager,” Blaine said, pleased with himself. He was barely acting like a troll at _all_.

“Ah,” Kurt said, eyes wide. “Friendship rescinded! Friendship rescinded!” He laughed, ruining his expression of mock-horror.

Blaine wanted to say something, anything, to keep the banter going, but he found himself just smiling at Kurt. Kurt, who was hilarious, and hot, and ate awesome food, and knew the best way to pick out squash. Kurt, who didn’t seem repulsed by Blaine’s sweatpants and un-done hair. Kurt, who was perfect in every way.

“Well,” Kurt said, clearing his throat. “I have everything I want. Ready?”

They maneuvered themselves into separate check-out lines. Blaine smiled to himself as he put his food stuffs on the conveyor belt, looking over the separator every few seconds to catch a glimpse of Kurt doing the same.

“You look happy,” the cashier said. Blaine looked over at him – he was a young man with blonde hair and green eyes. He smiled at Blaine and looked him over before turning his attention back to scanning groceries.

“Yes, well, it’s a wonderful day!” Blaine smiled back at the cashier and winked. He was in an especially good mood. The blonde blushed. Blaine snuck a peek over the separator.

“Well, mine certainly just got a whole lot wonderfuler,” the man said, looking at Blaine with interest.

“Oh, yeah?” Blaine said, with a smile.

He would be too embarrassed to admit it to anyone, but cashiers flirted with him all the time – he was like cashier catnip. Cashier-nip.

“Oh, yeah,” the cashier said. He printed out Blaine’s receipt and wrote his name and number on the back.

“Have a nice day,” he said, handing Blaine the receipt, leaning a little too close.

“You, too” – Blaine made a show of looking at the name on the receipt –“Benny.” Blaine winked again, trying to – and succeeding in – making the cashier laugh. Pleased, he shoved the receipt in his back pocket and turned to collect his bags of groceries.

Kurt, already finished checking out and laden with bags of his own, stood at the end of Blaine’s checkout counter. He was staring at Blaine with a strange expression on his face.

“Ready?” Blaine said, eager to keep using his newfound talking-to-Kurt skills. He grinned at Kurt, but Kurt didn’t grin back. He just stiffly nodded and turned to walk toward the exit.

Slightly bewildered, Blaine followed him out to the parking lot. They stopped at Kurt’s black car.

“So, uh, this was fun,” Blaine said, for once trying to make eye contact. Kurt wouldn’t look at him. “Right?”

Kurt opened a door and shoved his groceries inside. “Right,” he said. “Fun.”

“Um,” Blaine said, nervous smile fading. “Are you okay?”

Kurt slammed the door he’d opened and then jerked open the one to the driver’s seat. “I’m fine, Blaine,” he said, but the way he said it made Blaine think he wasn’t fine at all. “I’ll see you in school.”

Kurt closed the door and Blaine felt like he should do something to keep him from leaving, but he didn’t know what. All he knew was that suddenly all the progress he’d made in the last hour had disappeared. Kurt started the car and drove off.

Blaine was in a funk the whole drive home and, when he got there, the first thing he did was sign on to facebook and navigate to Kurt’s page.

He stared at Kurt’s smiling default picture. He wanted to write something clever and flirty on his timeline, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He sighed and closed the window.

Apparently, when it came to Kurt Hummel, Blaine couldn’t do anything right.

 

***

 

By Monday morning, Blaine was about ready to cuss out his parents for producing someone as inept as he was.

He’d thought he’d been doing well. He’d thought that finally – _finally_ – after months of longing, he’d shown Kurt that Blaine was actually kind of sort of okay to be around and that it was in Kurt’s best interests to be around him as frequently as possible.

Cooper, when Blaine had called to miserably go over his meeting with Kurt, had said his problem was most likely the exchange with the cashier. It was the only thing that happened between them bantering in the produce section and Kurt driving off with barely a word. Though Blaine didn’t want to have done something that had hurt Kurt’s feelings, he actually kind of hoped that it was the flirting that had made Kurt mad. Because that meant that Kurt must like him, right? Why else would Blaine flirting with a stranger bother him?

So Blaine made a plan – he was going to find Kurt, explain that he wasn’t interested in the cashier, and ask him out.

It wasn’t the most sophisticated plan – the one Cooper had come up with had involved codenames and unethically utilized nanny cams – but it was honest, and Blaine thought it just might work.

He was distracted all Monday morning (allowing Derek to manipulate Blaine into showing them a movie when they should have been doing math), and as the hand of the clock inched nearer and nearer to where Blaine wanted it to be, he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.

But no. It was going to be okay. It was a good plan, an honest plan. It was going to be okay.

He smoothed his head-shell.

The school day officially ended at 2:10 in the afternoon, something that Blaine loved because it meant he had the whole afternoon to do whatever he wanted. But today, as soon as the clock hit 2, he dismissed his students.

“What?” said Donna, confusion and joy mingling on her face as she looked up at Blaine. “But… it’s 10 minutes early!”

“I know, but you guys have been so good today, I thought –” the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the joyous screams of twenty-five first-graders. With a speed that never ceased to amaze him – and kind of hurt his feelings, to be honest – the children packed up all their things and were out the door. He hoped he didn’t get reprimanded for letting them out early. Maybe he could say he let them go because there were bees in the classroom? No one would fault him for not shutting the kids in with vicious insects, right?

Shaking his head and straightening his clothes, he gathered his things, locked the classroom door, and was in front of the choir room by 2:07. So when the bell rang and the door burst open under the force of a swarm of fourth-graders at 2:10, Blaine was able to immediately slip inside.

Kurt didn’t notice him at first. He was waving off the kids as he stuffed various files into his leather briefcase.

“Bye, Mr. Hummel!” a little dark-haired girl cried. “Have a nice afternoon!”

“Yes, yes, Tiffany,” Kurt muttered, not looking up. “Get along now, little doggy.” He waved a hand at her like she was a fly he was trying to get rid of. She giggled. Blaine smiled at her as she pushed past him and out the door.

Having stuffed his briefcase and grabbed his (stylish) jacket, Kurt was ready to leave the classroom before the clock struck 2:11. He turned to the door.

And stopped short.

“How did you get here so fast?” Kurt said, looking at the clock and then back at Blaine.

“I let my kids out early.”

Kurt snorted. “Well, that’s mighty irresponsible.” He moved to push past Blaine, but Blaine put up a hand.

“Please, can I just talk to you?” Kurt was close enough that Blaine could feel the breath he exhaled against his cheek.

“What about?” Kurt said stiffly, backing up. The expression on his face made Blaine feel like he was talking to a stranger.

“About Saturday.” Blaine took a breath, gathered his courage, and pressed on. “I wanted to explain.”

Kurt snorted again, and looked away.

“I thought maybe – you were mad at me for flirting with the cashier? And I want to explain that that didn’t mean –”

“Spare me,” Kurt said, tilting his head and looking at a point somewhere over Blaine’s shoulder. “I really don’t care.”

“But…” Blaine let out a growl of frustration. Did Kurt really not care or was he just saying that?  “Well, I – I just wanted to apologize, because we were having fun –”

Kurt laughed, but it wasn’t the good laugh that Blaine loved so much.

“Oh, were we, Blaine?”

“Well,” Blaine said, insecure. “I thought we were. I don’t want you to be mad at me.” He took a breath. “I like you, Kurt.”

Kurt laughed again.

“You like me? Right. You like me so much that I’m literally – _literally_ , Blaine – the only fucking person on this planet that you won’t flirt with. _That’s_ how much you fucking _like_ me.”

Blaine flinched, surprised by the harshness in Kurt’s voice.

“Kurt, _what –_ ”

“I’m serious, Blaine! Mercedes said she saw you flirt with the _janitor_ last week. The janitor! He’s old enough to be your _grandfather_ , Blaine!”

“Mr. Ortez?” Blaine asked, confused. “I was helping him vacuum – he’s really nice, I know you’d like him –”

“Whether or not I’d like _the janitor_ , Blaine, is _not the issue here_!” Kurt stared at Blaine for a moment and then looked away.

Blaine took a step closer, hands raised in surrender. He watched as Kurt took what looked to be a calming breath and then another, as if he were steeling himself up for something.

“The _issue_ , Blaine,” he said finally, “is that I apparently make you so uncomfortable that you turn into a completely different person when I’m around. I thought maybe you didn’t play around with me like you do with everyone else because you didn’t want to give me the wrong impression – that since I’m so obviously gay and you’re –” He stopped and glared accusingly at Blaine. “Actually, I have no idea what the fuck you are, Mr. I’m-not-going-to-post-an-“interested-in”-on-my-fucking-facebook-page. Don’t you know how _annoying_ that is?”

“Uh,” said Blaine.

“Whatever,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Not the point. So I thought you didn’t flirt with me because I’m gay and you didn’t want me to think you were serious. And I was okay with that! You’re beautiful and you wear adorable bowties and the kids love you to fucking death and I just wanted to be friends. I thought that if you got to know me a little more then you would joke with me just like you do with everyone else – seriously, Blaine, _everyone else_ – because then you’d understand that me being gay doesn’t mean I’m going to try to fuck you over the principal’s desk if you bat your eyes at me!” Kurt punctuated _bat your eyes at me_ with sharp pokes to Blaine’s chest.

“Um,” said Blaine. His mind had gone a bit scattered around _fuck you over the principal’s desk_.

“So when we were talking at Whole Foods, I was happy. Okay, sure, you weren’t flirting with me, you weren’t treating me like you treat Mercedes and Tina and Mr. fucking Ortez, but you weren’t staring at me or being awkwardly silent or walking away, either! I was happy. We eat the same food and you didn’t care that I facebook stalked you and we were finally going to be _friends_.”

To Blaine’s horror, Kurt’s eyes were starting to get damp and his voice was going even higher and he was looking at Blaine as though Blaine had stomped on all the kittens in the world.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, reaching out a hand. Kurt slapped it away.

“And then what do you do?” Kurt asked, but didn’t really ask. He didn’t give Blaine any time to respond, at least. “You flirt with the cashier! The young, male, _gay_ cashier! Because apparently, you’re not uncomfortable around me because I’m gay, you’re uncomfortable because I’m _me_!” He pushed at Blaine’s chest, but not hard enough to make him step back.

“So I’m just going to stay out of your way, okay?” Kurt pushed at him again. “I’ll stay away and then I won’t have to watch you go from happy to practically _comatose_ just because I walk into a room.” He pushed again. “Okay?”

There were actual tears in Kurt’s eyes now and Blaine was such a fucking troll, such a fucking _troll_ , because he’d done this and he’d hurt him and he hadn’t even known it.

He didn’t realize he was just standing there staring, shell-shocked, until Kurt laughed that not-good laugh and said, “You can’t even say okay?”

Blaine took a step forward, into Kurt’s personal space, and crowded him against the piano.

“What are you –” Kurt gasped, pushing at Blaine’s shoulders, but then Blaine was kissing him, one hand threaded through the hair at the base of Kurt’s skull, and one clutching tightly at his waist. As surprised as Kurt must have been, it only took a moment before he was kissing back.

Blaine pulled Kurt’s head roughly, pressing him down so that their mouths were closer. Kurt’s arms wrapped around Blaine’s waist and brought him in closer as Blaine dug both of his hands into Kurt’s hair. Kurt moaned and Blaine bit his lower lip and then –

“Wait,” Kurt muttered, then “Wait!” He pushed again at Blaine’s shoulders, this time succeeding in knocking him off balance. Blaine stumbled back a few steps. He charged forward, intent on continuing the kiss, but Kurt pushed him away again. “Blaine, wait!”

They both stopped, a foot apart, breathing heavily. Blaine was happy to see that Kurt didn’t look so sad anymore.

“What are you doing, Blaine?” Kurt asked, eyes moving over Blaine’s face as though searching for his intentions.

“I’m trying to kiss you,” Blaine answered, and started forward again. Kurt held him off.

“Why?”

“Because you’re stupid and _I’m_ stupid and I _want_ to,” Blaine moved again, but Kurt grabbed on to his shoulders and kept him still.

“I just yelled at you for ten minutes, I think the least you can do is explain whatever the fuck it is you think you’re doing,” he said, (no longer tear-filled) eyes fixed on Blaine’s.

Blaine sighed and turned away, shoving his hands into his – now ruined – hair. He turned back to face Kurt, still pressed against the piano.

“I’m sorry, okay? You have it wrong.” Kurt raised an eyebrow and Blaine hurried to clarify. “Well, not completely wrong, I do flirt with everyone but you, but it’s not for the reasons you think!”

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. “Then why?”

“I don’t flirt with you because you make me feel like a gigantic troll,” Blaine started. A look of outrage flashed across Kurt’s face.

“Excuse me?” he said, pressing himself back even more.

“But not in a bad way! Well, yes, of course in a bad way, but it’s not – it’s because you’re perfect, okay? You said that I’m beautiful and that the kids love me,” Blaine said, stumbling on the word _beautiful_ , “well, _you’re_ beautiful. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, I mean, really, and this is going to sound crude, but your body is out of this _world_ , and you sing like a freaking angel, and you’re funny, and your smile makes me want to die, and every time I’m near you it’s like I fall into a big pit of quicksand because you make me so nervous.”

Kurt’s eyes were wide and when Blaine took a step forward to put his hands on his waist, Kurt let him.

“I like you, okay?” Blaine said. “I like you. I don’t like them that way – Mercedes, Mr. Ortez, the cashier. I don’t get nervous around them. But I do around you. Because I like you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Blaine searching for a reaction and Kurt waiting to see if there was more.

“Oh,” Blaine said, suddenly. “And it’s _men_.”

“What?” Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s men?”

“My interested-in on facebook. It’s _men._ I just don’t list it because I don’t think it’s appropriate since so many colleagues and –”

Kurt surged forward and grabbed Blaine’s face, pulling their mouths together with a painful crash. “Shut up,” he said, wrapping an arm around Blaine and pulling him so that Kurt was once again pressed against the piano by Blaine’s body.

“You’re such a troll,” he murmured, grabbing at Blaine’s back, waist, hips, ass.

“I know, I know, I suck,” Blaine said against Kurt’s mouth, before pulling away to grin at him. “Pun unintended, but very much true,” he said, winking.

Kurt pulled him back for more kissing with a groan. “You barely talk to me all year and now you’re winking and making dirty jokes?” he said in gasps.

“Give me a break, I’m making progress here,” Blaine murmured, sucking at the side of Kurt’s neck. “Now what were you saying about fucking me over the principal’s desk?”


End file.
